The women of Pretoria were intensely bitter against the British, and did not scruple to show it. For several days not one was seen on the streets. After a time they came out of their houses, but very seldom would they have anything to say to the invaders. They showed the same spirit said to have been shown by our colonial women towards the British, the same that the women of the Southern States showed towards the Northern soldiers, and the same that the French women felt against the Germans. In their hearts was bitter hatred, but politeness and gentle breeding toned their actions to suavity that was sometimes mistaken for weakness by a race that has never been noted for its subtle sense of discrimination. Lord Roberts invited Mrs. Botha to dinner one night, soon after the occupation of Pretoria, and she accepted the invitation. Immediately the rumor was spread throughout the army, and was construed by the British to mean that General Botha was going to surrender at once, and that his wife was going to influence him to do so. On the contrary, Mrs. Botha told me that if he did surrender as long as there was a possible chance to fight, she would never speak to him again. Her eyes flashed and her manner was very far from that of a woman who was weakening because she had dined with the commander-in-chief. She obviously had her reasons for doing it, and there is no doubt that General Botha heard all that went on from herself the next morning. The system of communication between the burghers in the field and their families was facile and well conducted, and the women kept the men informed of every move of the British. One afternoon I was riding along the streets of Pretoria with an English officer, and we passed General Botha’s little son. I pointed him out to my companion, who pulled up to talk with him. He was a boy of seven or eight, bright and good looking. The officer asked him what he thought of the British soldiers now that he had seen them. “Oh, they’re all right,” he answered evasively. “Well, from now on you will live under the British flag,” said the officer, trying to tease him in a good-natured way. “Perhaps,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “And you will become just as much an Englishman as any of us, and like it,” continued the officer. In an instant all the boy’s evasiveness was gone; his fists clenched and his head came up sharply. “I never will be English!” he exclaimed vehemently. “I hate you all! You may make us live under that flag, but you’ll never make us like it--never!” And he stamped his foot to emphasize his tirade against the enemies who had driven his father away. This is the spirit shown on every side in the Transvaal, the Orange Free State, and even in Cape Colony itself. The people seem contented enough until they are stirred, and then their liberty-loving blood makes them speak their real feeling. [Illustration: Lord Kitchener bidding good-by to the foreign attachés after the capture of Pretoria.]